


Over This Shit

by Paragosm



Series: It All Started In Valinor (Familial Ties verse) [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Caranthir Lives, Caranthir snaps, El-Galad and Elropher, Gen, axe murdering, betrayal kind of, canon character death, elfnapping, here be canon divergence, twin adoption runs in the family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22773448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paragosm/pseuds/Paragosm
Summary: Caranthir has finally taken leave of his senses, or perhaps come into them, after the battle in Doriath that cost him two of his brothers.He decides he will not loose anymore of them.
Series: It All Started In Valinor (Familial Ties verse) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1491794
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	Over This Shit

Caranthir, Lord of Thargelion, was cold as stone as he led his troops into battle. Laucion, his Herald and long time friend, was at his side. They marched on Doriath, the oath rekindled after many long years, the news of the wretches who had kept the Silmaril's deaths and Dior's crowning as King setting their hearts and minds ablaze yet again. 

His Captains rode in front of their companies, Lieutenants at their sides. Captain Sarnon, his steel grey hair whipping about in the snow, was ready to fight. He still burned with battle lust, eager to regain his former glory after what was to him a humiliating defeat at the Nirnaeth. His Lieutenants Angawë and Filicion kept the massive drafts the officers of the Red Stripes, as the division came to be known thanks to the blood colored war paint they wore, rode in check as the horses smelled the heavy scents of war in the air and became excited. 

He turned his gaze to Ice and Raid Companies, their Captains meeting his eyes for brief seconds. Captain Ohtion, black hair bound back and coal black eyes burning with a similar fire that lit up those of the Feänorions, had been in charge of organization of supplies, the needs of six hundred and thirty so soldiers falling into his hands. He expressed mild doubt at the attack, suggesting they wait, for the longer they waited the more complacent the Sindar would grow, but in the end it was not his decision and so he followed orders.

Caranthir liked that about him, and he knew he'd fight to the bitter end or song worthy victory. Captain Námamë, Ohtion's cousin, was sticking close by him, Ice Company keeping formation in tight position. 

He turned his attention from them and back to the now. The plans had been gone over countless times, and his brothers marched with him. Celegorm was livid, out for revenge, not just the Silmaril. The small pack of dogs that followed him wasn't completed without Huan, even all these years later. Amras didn't ever send out Roimë and Ruinë, the twin hounds of Oromë Celegorm had gifted him and Amrod too precious to him to risk in battle.   
They advanced on the front line. 

They waited. 

And they attacked.

*******************

He breathed heavily, spinning on his heel, Loita falling heavily on the Doriathin soldiers who surrounded him, his death seeming imminent. He roared with fury, doubling down. He swung his mighty axe, beheading, delimbing, and eviscerating his opponents. He snarled, face so covered with blood that Carnistir seemed another of Nerdanel's prophecies. Another one, another one, another one.

Curufin's choked cry sounded out, his throat ripped open, bleeding out. Caranthir paid little heed to him, the bloodlust and adrenaline and desire to survive burning in him stronger then a wildfire. He was barely capable of holding back the guards, his distressed cry when he was cut badly across the jaw drawing the brief attention of Celegorm, the pale brother diverting his eyes from the fight he was engaging in with Dior for only half a second, but it was enough. 

Dior surged forward and stabbed his sword through him. The tip came out of his back, but Celegorm, when Dior attempted to pull the sword out, purposefully fell forwards and ran through the King with his own blade. Blood dribbled out of Celegorm's mouth, choking on it, an insane light dancing in his dying eyes as he coughed out something and fell over, the pair locked in a deadly embrace. 

Caranthir continued fighting, pushing his way to his dead brothers once the sounds of battle became muffled, then silent. He dropped to his knees like one who'd been struck beside Curufin. He choked out a sob, ripping off his gore covered gloves and pressing his hand to his younger brother's face. The dull eyes that stared off and away, once full of so much flame, just like Feänor's, were carefully closed. 

Caranthir dragged himself up, walking over to the second of his brothers limp bodies, pulling the sword out of Celegorm's chest, ignoring the pale body of Dior completely. He saw the victorious smirk frozen on his face, pale white hair and nearly translucent skin battered and bloodied, icy blue eyes locked open and the flame within them extinguished as well. He laid his forehead on his pale brother, the corpse no paler but far colder then he'd been in life as he let out a few sobs and hitches of breath, light sobbing turning to muttered fury as he left the chamber deep within Menegroth, taking the twin daggers the dead King had at his waist. 

He stormed out, only to come face to face with some servants of Celegorm, judging by the ice blue warpaint and the hound's head shaped pins that fastened their cloaks, emerging from the woods. "Was the fighting dragged out even into the woods?" He asked them, the wound on his face beginning to scab up as he held Loita at the ready. "Nay, Lord Carnistir, we were in the woods for another reason." "Oh? What was your business then, if not fighting?" "We were ending the ill-bred line of Thingol, my Lord." Caranthir narrowed his eyes, aware of the so-called King's daughter and sons. "What did you do with the children?" "We left them in the woods. No blood will be spilt, for it is unlikely they shall be spared by the cold, that is, if they are not eaten by a wolf, my Lord."

Caranthir's vision turned blood red. "So" he said, voice taking on a tone as icy as the air around them "You left children to freeze to death in the woods. You left them to a long, horrible fate." "We left the twins. Their sister was nowhere in sight. And it will be-" Suddenly the speakers voice was cut off as he was lifted into the air by his throat. 

"Where are they?" He asked in a deadly calm voice. "Why are you so concerned? The half-breeds will die, just like their families and the rest of these Sindarin filth-" The one who spoke was quickly relieved of his head as Caranthir's vision turned blood red. None of the others were given the chance to speak, the rest of the six dispatched. 

He stormed off into the woods, cursing his brother for teaching them how to cover tracks so well. He ran about, finally stumbling upon a small hollow where two shivering children rested. Their ear tips and lips were blue as he strapped his axe to his back and picked them up, wrapping them in his fur-lined red cloak and pressing them to his chest. They seemed either too young or too cold to care who their rescuer was as he walked away. The battle was over. He wouldn't take them back, for although he knew Maglor would have pity, he was always wary of Maedrhos. 

His mind wasn't all together, grief clouding his judgement as he humming soothingly to the now-whimpering children. Elured and Elurin, yes, those were their names. His nose wrinkled up as he thought of the meanings, and shook his head, walking onwards towards where his people were encamped. He was tired. He made a desicion trekking through a freezing river, the icy water cleaning away the remaining gore on his legs. He wanted to be done with this. Two more of his brothers were dead, and he felt a surge of desire to protect Amras, the youngest of his brothers and the surviving twin, the two of which he'd favored since the Amburussa had settled in front of his doors that first night. 

He charged into where the few who'd been left behind in his camps, and he runs to one of the tethered horses after fashioning a sort of sling, and in an instinctive reaction, he runs about the camp on the horse. "We must retreat! We must make for the mountains, pack up the camp, now, now, now!" The people of the camp looked up in shock, but obeyed their Lord.   
Laucion, back fighting the last remnants of the border guards, heard the horn loudly blow to signal a call back and retreat. He was puzzled, as the fighting seemed to have been going rather well for the Feänorions, but returned, his horse eating up the distance. 

"My Lord, why have you ordered this retreat? Surely not because of losses!" The herald cried as he returned to camp, his men following behind. "Because I am Lord and I say so, Herald, now obey me and move out!" He snarled, holding the children to him as he heads to the front of the quickly moving war party, now completely packed up. Laucion was bewildered and certain Carnistir had finally lost his mind, obeying but vowing to write a message to the other brothers as soon as possible, for their brother's madness must be reported.


End file.
